


Moistened With A Drop of Thy Blood

by sabaceanbabe



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-02
Updated: 2010-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/pseuds/sabaceanbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Cylon enters CIC and Adama's focus is drawn to it.  The Cylon that wears the face of one of his beloved "children."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Moistened With A Drop of Thy Blood

The Cylon enters CIC and Adama's focus is drawn to it. The Cylon that wears the face of one of his beloved "children." Its eyes meet his and it raises hands, delicate and graceful, in unspoken question. After a moment, so brief that no one but the Cylon and perhaps Saul even notice, Bill nods to a Marine and the shackles are removed, although the metal collar remains.

Bill studies it as it moves about the CIC, interacts with his crew with knowledge that it shouldn't possess. Every movement, every request, every command, is Sharon Valerii. Every movement, every request, every command, is subtly wrong. This thing cannot be the young woman he knew, and yet he knows that it is even as it is not. _"I'm Sharon, but I'm a different Sharon,"_ it had told him on Kobol. _"I don't have hidden protocols or programs. I make my own choices."_ He wonders if he's a fool for taking this risk; Saul has already assured him that he is.

He's not sure he trusts himself to interact with the thing directly. The memory of that bullet entering his gut is still too raw, may always and forever be too raw. Added to that is the memory of how this one's neck felt in his hands, how fragile. The look in its eyes, fierce and proud and unflinching, as it held out a hand and let the sidearm dangle between the two of them, a truce offering. _A truce that I accepted,_ he thinks, even as he authorizes Lt. Gaeta to provide the Cylon whatever it needs to save his ship. _Even if I didn't accept it right away or with much grace._

The Cylon shaves the casing from the end of a fiberoptic cable, then seconds later slices into the palm of its hand. Blood flows and Doctor Baltar turns away, looking distressed while Saul asks, "What the hell?" Bill doesn't have to turn away from the Cylon, who appears to be in pain and on the verge of fainting from the shock of the self-inflicted wound, to picture his friend's horrified expression.

The Cylon's voice is strained, almost shaky when it gives Gaeta an order that the man obeys instantly. Adama notes that they work as well together now as they have in the past. Beside him, Saul watches the pair and Bill expects another "what the hell" from him, but his XO remains silent.

Face still shiny with sweat but no longer quite so pale, the Cylon turns to Bill, a challenge in its eyes, and says, "Sometimes you've gotta roll the hard six, right, Commander?" He fights down a startled reaction at the words, not willing to give up anything that might be used against him later. He hasn't forgotten the one that called itself Leoben Conoy, another Cylon that he had trusted, for a time.

It turns away from him, raises its eyes to the monitors overhead. Blood drips in a steady stream from its hand to the deck. _That'll have to be cleaned up._ Making a sound that he can only describe as an involuntary grunt of pain, the Cylon pushes the end of the fiberoptic cable into the wound, begins to dig beneath the skin with the glowing end. Its eyes are closed. More beads of sweat pop up on its skin and the color again drains from its face.

"What the _hell_?" Adama blinks, chokes back an inappropriate bark of laughter at the sound. _Gods, Saul, never change._

There is an audible click and the Cylon lets loose a breathy whimper, wobbling on her feet. Her eyes roll up into her head and the lights in CIC begin to flicker.

"It's going too fast!" Gaeta shouts, watching streaming data on his monitor. "I can't follow it!"

The scene takes on a surreal feeling as the lights flicker faster, the instrument panels keeping time with the strobe effect. The Cylon stands in a kind of fugue state, swaying, and again Bill wonders if this is a mistake. It doesn't seem to be at all aware of its surroundings.

"You've got to stop this!" There is a note of panic in Saul's voice.

"Stand by to execute computer wipe on my command," Bill barks at Gaeta.

"Wipe the hard drives, now!" Its voice is not as strong as it was before, a thread of pain running through it, but the force behind the order is just as sure.

"Do it!" Bill bites out and Gaeta jumps to comply. Saul glares at Bill.

Amidst the frantically strobing lights and the cacophony of alarms, Bill has eyes only for the Cylon. As Saul, angry and frightened, shouts about how long it's taking, that they have no weapons, all systems are offline, the dradis is offline, about a coming bloodbath, Bill Adama watches Sharon Valerii, still and calm, her blood still flowing around the cable in her hand. There is nothing of humanity in the tableau, and yet…

The staticky chatter of his pilots fills CIC, adding to the noise as they draw closer to engaging with the enemy. An enemy that vastly outnumbers them and to which Bill may have handed victory, not only over his beloved _Galactica_, but over the entire human race, as well.

"She set us up!"

Saul's words galvanize him. Bill stalks over to the Marine nearest the Cylon. "Give me your sidearm." Once the gun changes hands, the Marine backs away. All attention is now focused on him as Bill raises the pistol, holds it straight out just centimeters from the Cylon's head. "If they're coming for you, they're gonna be very disappointed," he spits at her, but she is oblivious, still swaying on her feet.

Tigh shouts, "Do it!" But Bill hesitates, recalling yet again the confidence, the absolute certainty in her when she told him that she made her own choices. "What are you waiting for?"

Suddenly, her body goes rigid. Eyes closed, her head falls back. "This," she says and collapses to the deck. A noise sounds throughout the ship, bringing to mind a large engine winding down. The lights become steady, no longer strobing, and the klaxons fall quiet as Sharon jerks the cable from her hand and cradles that still-bleeding hand to her chest.

She leans back against the console, huddles in on herself as Gaeta reports that they just transmitted a signal. Before Gaeta finishes, Apollo's voice sounds over the comms, advising that the Cylon ships have lost power, are drifting out of control. There is something like joy in his voice, unmistakable even past the distortion of the wireless signal.

"What the hell?" Saul asks once again, but the anger is gone from his voice.

Bill stares at the Cylon bleeding on his deck. His hand drops to his side, finger still on the trigger of the gun. "The Cylons sent a computer virus," he tells Saul. Sharon Valerii looks up at him through bangs that have fallen into her eyes; eyes filled with a pain that is more than merely physical. "We just sent one back."

Everything else fades into the background as Bill continues to watch her. Saul gives the order for their pilots to kill the bastard Cylons and the pilots' chatter swirls around and around as Bill's eyes meet Sharon's. She is exhausted and clearly heart-sore, but just as clearly she defies him to continue to believe that she is a mindless machine, bent on the destruction of the human race.

He can't believe that anymore. She isn't human, but neither is she a machine. He doesn't know what she is, yet. Doesn't know how to deal with her and doesn't have the time just then to think it through. And so he doesn't.

"Hoffman," he says to the Marine whose sidearm he had borrowed. He returns the man's weapon. "Take this thing back to its cell."

Bill's gaze never strays from her as the shackles are reattached to her wrists. She stares at him just as steadfastly.

He has a lot to think about, but not right now.


End file.
